Chapter 16

"Mija," Pedro called from the door leading into my office. "Can you invoice Brock for a carburetor?"

"No problem." I balanced on a towering stack of pillows in my task chair. "Anything else?"

Unlike his brothers, Pedro was a stickler for not entering my office. He was a tidy man, and he abhorred the idea of customers ending up with grease stains because he touched the chairs or table before them.

Be that as it may, I suspected he was checking in on me. No doubt Matty had left him with strict orders. It hadn't slipped my notice that I hadn't been alone since I was released from the hospital except to pee. But I wasn't about to complain when the incident had spooked me too.

"Also, Ms. Taylor needs a new rear windshield wiper. We need permission to change it and charge her."

"I'll get right on it." I made myself a note. "That it?"

"Yes." He softened his expression. "That's it."

Josie brushed past him as he returned to the active bay. "You're positively radiant today."

"You're just buttering me up because I'm wearing your dress." I shoved my cardigan sleeves up my arms again. "Fair warning." I lifted a finger. "This dress may never be the same after I've worn it eight hours."

"You look adorable." She plopped down in the chair across from my desk. "How did it go this morning?"

"Kierce—who is not a psycho killer—has agreed to work with Harrow and Carter to solve their case."

"Oh, really?" That tidbit perked her ears. "Does that let you off the hook?"

"Um, no." I resisted the urge to rub a hand over my forearm for the millionth time. "I'll still be in the mix."

"What qualifies Kierce to assist?" She crossed her legs. "Does he work in law enforcement too?"

"He sort of…" I made a vague gesture, "…works for a death god."

"I didn't hear you." She jerked forward, planting her elbow on my desk. "He what?"

"You heard me." I had bubbled with excitement at the news, but it was shaking her. "What's wrong?"

"That's why you've been so drawn to him." She drummed her fingers on her chin. "You're simpatico."

"Yes." I decided the word fit. "We vibe."

"Weirdly enough, that makes me feel better. I was sure you had lost your marbles, but this explains it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"What does Harrow think about bringing your boyfriend into the fold?"

"How did you leap from psycho killer to boyfriend that fast without spraining something?"

"I want to be an auntie while I'm still young enough to enjoy kids is all I'm saying."

"Do I have a surprise for you. You're a girl! You can have your own babies. Leave my uterus alone."

"That's the problem. It's been left alone for too long."

"You're confusing cervix with uterus."

"Hmm." She considered a sprinkler on the ceiling. "You might be right."

"I have actual work to do, unless you need another anatomy lesson."

"Now I remember why I came in here." She snapped her fingers. "Should I plant more pineberries?"

"The strawberry-shaped fruit that looks underripe and tastes kind of pineapple-y?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

"There was one more thing." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "A package was delivered for you."

"The only packages I get are from Amazon and auto parts stores."

"I don't think either of those deliver anything like this."

Despite losing time wrestling my way free of the pillows tucked around me, I reached the delivery nook where we received large packages in record time. I spotted the box immediately. Hard to miss a half-dozen neon balloons tied to a bakery box in equally garish colors. I should have fallen on the treats with glee. No one ever sent me these kinds of gifts. But I couldn't quite bring myself to touch the lid.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Josie, oblivious to my unease, nudged me. "It smells amazing."

A throaty caw drew my attention to an agitated crow hopping down a powerline out front.

"Something's not right." I took a step back. "We shouldn't touch it."

The longer I stood there, the more wrong I felt, until I had to retreat to escape the crawling sensation.

Trusting my instincts, Josie gave it space too. "What should we do with it?"

"I'm going to text Harrow, see what he says." I bit my bottom lip. "And hope I'm not being silly."

"Trust your gut." She bumped shoulders with me. "Hey." She glanced around us. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" I strained my ears for unusual noises. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly." Josie broke into a run. "Pedro?"

"Matty," I breathed, frantic, and I forgot my tender hip to run after her.

We reached the truck Pedro had been working under to find the familiar sight of Matty's bottom half. I nudged his toe with my shoe, but he didn't bump back like usual. Josie hit her knees beside him, reached underneath, and hooked her fingers in his belt loops. His arms dragged behind him as she rolled him clear on the dolly.

"Pedro?" I gritted my teeth, braced a palm on the truck's fender, and lowered myself to the concrete. "Matty?"

"They're not answering." Josie folded his hands across his stomach to keep from shredding his knuckles. "What do we do?"

"The only way to tell which one is hurt is to exorcise Pedro."

In broad daylight.

A mile from the cemetery.

Pedro could hang out on the ceiling in the garage, like he did in the restroom, but it was so bright. Too bright? I wasn't sure. I couldn't think. This had never happened before—a phrase fast becoming my go-to excuse.

"They're not breathing." Josie trembled. "What do you need? How can I help?"

"Close the bays and cover the windows. I need it as dark in here as you can get it."

With no time to waste, I began the brief ceremony to exorcise Pedro. I didn't have a lancet handy, which I really should carry at all times. The best I could do in a pinch was run my finger over various bits of metal within reach until I hit a sharp corner. I hissed when my unsanitary idea worked, using the blood to mark Matty with an extra layer of protection for them both. I pressed my palm to his forehead, murmured the familiar words, and drew Pedro out of Matty's body into the air before me.

"Get high," I panted at him, the magic an unusual strain. "Josie's making it dark as fast as she can."

His glittering outline soared up to the ceiling where he waited, his face pinched in worry for Matty.

A warm gust of air swirled through my hair, raising prickles down my arm, and a hint of incense filled my head. I ignored the sensation that I was no longer alone to focus on my brother. As soon as I wiped the blood off his forehead, his eyes fluttered on a groan.

"You've hurt yourself," Kierce said from beside me.

Had I been on my feet, I would have jumped high enough to bang my head on the ceiling.

"Kierce?" I kept hold of Matty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Right. Not supposed to mention the brand. Or my ability to summon him. "I must have butt dialed you on accident."

"Butt dial," he repeated, his forehead pleating, then his body grew taut. "What is that…?"

Afraid to take my eyes off Matty, I had trouble tracking Kierce, but I figured he had sensed the wrongness of the box the same as me. He must have gone to examine it, which he was more than qualified to do. I should have summoned—er, called—him when I found it.

"Pedro?" Matty blinked slowly. "Okay?"

"He's fine." I rested my hand on his chest, reassuring myself his heart was beating. "What about you?"

"I was yanked off my path and dumped back in my body. He was still in here, unconscious. I didn't know spirits could sleep. I guess I never thought much about it. Pedro never has, but he's only ever at work."

"Spirits can't sleep, but they can fall into a meditative state that's similar. It allows them to recharge. But I've never known it to happen outside the grave. I think Pedro reacted to whatever is in that pastry box."

Anticipating my next question, he told me, "I didn't see who dropped it off."

"Yeah. I figured. Don't sweat it. It's not your fault." I pinned him down when he tried to rise. "Even if you weren't under the truck when the delivery driver arrived, they wouldn't have had to wait long for you to go back to work. The cubby isn't monitored. Anyone can walk in and make a drop."

And if the same witch who cast the agitation spell had come here to leave the gift, they could have muffled their steps with magic or hidden themselves from sight with a charm.

"We need to fix that." He searched the ceiling, but he couldn't see Pedro. "I'll ask Pascal about it."

When they shared a body, they could communicate, but that was the only time they crossed paths.

"Who is that tall drink of water?" Josie crouched beside me. "He carried the box out into the yard."

"Oh." I required her help to stand. "That's just the psycho killer."

"Now I see why you had trouble staying away. He's gorgeous. I would have let him seduce me too."

"You let everyone seduce you." Matty nudged her leg with his boot. "That's not saying much."

"Plants are biologically coded to be fruitful and multiply." She stuck out her tongue. "So there."

"Except," I pointed out, "your only fruit hangs from trees in the backyard, and you flunked math."

"I could make an excellent joke about self-pollinating," she said evilly, "but I'll be nice."

As I stepped back, Matty looked ready to sink into the concrete to escape. "I'm not going to touch that."

"That's the point." She waggled her eyebrows. "No one else has to?—"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Josie, but shut up. Please. For me. Your brother. Who almost died."

Certain Josie knew he hadn't been that near death, I still let him get away with fudging the truth.

According to, well, everyone, there was no such thing as oversharing between best friends. Except when your siblings were your besties. Then oversharing became less about catharsis and more about inflicting as much psychological damage as humanly possible by sharing details absolutely no one wanted to hear.

"Stay with Matty." I started toward the door leading outside. "I'm going to check in with Kierce."

By the time I reached him, he stood over a hungry flame belching black smoke in our backyard firepit.

"Hey." I settled in beside him, ignoring the tickle in the back of my throat from the fumes. "What was in there?"

"A charm." He watched it burn. "It would have lulled you all into a sleep you couldn't wake from."

Sounded like a black witch to me. I couldn't imagine two had it in for me, so it must be the same one.

"That's why it hit Matty the hardest." Gooseflesh rose down my arms. "Dreams are his domain."

The pull on his body had yanked his spirit back like a snapped rubber band, but it had put him in control. Had Pedro not been present, he would have woken on his own, but Pedro had fallen prey to the charm.

Did that mean the witch knew about the Suarezes? About the body swaps? Or had the charm backfired?

"You're hurt." He reached for my hand, hesitated, then went ahead and took it. "You cut yourself."

"I had to exorcise a spirit from Matty's body. I didn't have the time—or the mobility—to find a knife."

Head cocking at an angle, he reminded me of Badb. "The spirit was a guest?"

With him agreeing to work alongside Harrow, I owed him an explanation for how my gift worked soon.

"Yes." I grimaced when his focus drew my attention to the gash I had given myself. "It's complicated, but yes." I glanced over my shoulder. "He's safe in the garage for now."

"I can return him to the cemetery for you."

"That would be amazing." I flexed my fingers in his. "I would never forgive myself if he were hurt."

As I fretted, a faint smile tempted his lips. "I've never met anyone like you."

Thinking of his trouble connecting with the living, I joked, "Anyone alive?"

"Anyone." He brushed his lips over my knuckles despite the blood. "Ever."

Heat blasted my cheeks, and I scrabbled for a new topic that wasn't me. "Any idea who made it?"

"The charm?" He shifted his focus back to the firepit. "I couldn't risk the time to examine it."

"Would it have still affected us in the garage even from back here?"

"Yes." He seemed to notice he still held my hand and slid his fingers off the tips of mine. "Whoever left it placed it in your building to ensure your immediate exposure to its lure. In this case, it was a scent. Once you smell it, you can't break free of its spell until the charm has been destroyed."

Or until it killed us.

"I should text Harrow." A tremor shook my phone in my hand. "Let him know about it."

"The police are good protection for you."

The lift of his tone at the end confused me on whether he was asking a question or making a statement.

"He works for a paranormal response unit—the 514. They work out of Savannah, sort of SPD adjacent."

"He neglected to mention that affiliation."

"As much as it pains me to stick up for him, you threw us both for a loop with the god thing."

A pinch in his expression convinced me he would have happily kept that part to himself.

"I'll leave Badb." He spotted her swaying on the powerline. "She can keep watch over you."

"How does a Roman deity's personal assistant end up naming his pet—friend—after an Irish goddess?"

"Personal assistant?"

"It's slightly less terrifying than your actual job title."

"Fair enough." His cheeks creased in the suggestion of a smile. "To answer your question—the Irish have the best crow lore. The goddess Badb was fierce, loyal, and clever. So is my friend."

"Are you sure lore is the right word?" I teased him with his earlier reprimand about myths. "You sound as if you knew her."

"She was before my time." He stirred the ashes with the poker we kept nearby for that purpose. "Or she prefers that we believe she's gone. When the old gods fell out of favor, some died off, unwilling to adapt to the changing times. Others embraced the freedom to cut ties with their old existences, their former responsibilities, and they moved to new places, became new gods. I serve North America. My master is fond of Massachusetts."

"Logically, I've known gods and goddesses and all manner of deities walk among us, but it's blowing my mind to know there's a death god living in the US. That he's your boss. That you're…you."

"You've been alone for too long, without the companionship of those with similar talents."

"As far as I can tell, no one has similar talents." I seized on the opportunity before me. "Do they?"

"I've never met anyone like you," he said, sweeping his gaze over my features.

His words rang true, but it didn't feel like the whole truth. But if he kept looking at me like that, I might forget to wonder what else he might be holding back.

We stood there, listening to the crackle of foul magic consumed by cleansing fire, and it was nice.

Which told me Josie was probably right, that I ought to put myself out there more often if I found this even faintly intimate.

"You haven't hung your dice on your mirror."

Jerked from my thoughts, which revolved around the temptation to lean my head on his shoulder, though that might be the exhaustion and hurt talking, I snapped to attention. "Who told you about those?"

"The woman at the gift shop mentioned them, and I remembered they were once popular car ornaments."

"You bought them?" I staggered back, and he caught me with an arm around my waist. "The nightgown? That was you? I thought Harrow sent them." He steadied me but didn't let go. "He paid for a witch, and I thought the rest was…" I leaned against him, just a little. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful."

"I wasn't sure I would be welcome in your room, with your family, but I thought a gift appropriate."

Hard to say if Josie would have freaked out harder over a visit from psycho killer or the ones from Harrow.

"I would have had to steal my hospital gown if you hadn't sent a nightshirt." I did my best to extract my foot from my mouth. "Pants weren't happening."

"That's why you're wearing a dress." He flicked his gaze down my outfit. "You have very pale legs."

The urge to laugh almost won out, but I managed a sincere, "Thank you."

"You're the first woman I've… It's been a long time since I attempted to…" He stared at my hand as if he couldn't believe I touched him by choice. "I enjoy your company, Frankie." He traced a finger over my knuckle. "You're worth the effort."

"Thank you." I wasn't sure what else to say. "You're worth the effort too."

Overhead, Badb cawed a warning, and I spied a dark lowrider pulling into the lot.

A peculiar wave of familiarity swept through me, but I couldn't put my finger on what had triggered it.

"You have a customer." He withdrew, taking care to be certain I had caught my balance first, before turning toward the garage. "I'll leave you to your work."

Once I tore myself from the eye-catching eggplant paint job, I turned to find Kierce gone.

"You've got to stop doing that," I muttered. "You're giving me a complex."

Slowly, I picked my way across the garden to the parking lot and tapped on the tinted driver's window.

Based on the oversized laminate card taped to the bumper, and the bold numbers printed across it, this car was either heading to a show or to an auction. With classics, we saw a lot of both.

"Mary Frances Talbot," Lyle Harrow said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's been too long."

If you asked me, it hadn't been nearly long enough.